


Frozen Forests

by rangerhitomi



Series: Prisoners of Fate [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Gen, M/M, Prisoners of Fate, prequel story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuma just wants to show his captain a frozen waterfall in the forest, but forests carry a different atmosphere to Ryoga. (Prisoners of Fate AU prequel scene.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen Forests

Yuma bounded ahead over rocks and fallen tree branches – snapped off in the recent winter storm and laden with icicles – with all the grace of a mountain lion. His face was red from the cold, his unruly hair tied up with a scarf because his cloak hood wouldn’t stay up. Despite the ice and snow coating the entire forest, he never seemed to lose his footing. But there was a smile on his face - a childish grin, really - when he turned back to wait for his hiking companion.

It was funny, in a way; Ryoga was the one who had grown up in the northern forests, had lived the first fourteen years of his life among the trees, and  _Yuma_  seemed far more natural in them than Ryoga ever had.

“You coming?” Yuma’s breath condensed with his little laugh.

“It’s getting late, Yuma.” Ryoga pulled his own scarf over his mouth to keep the cold air out of his lungs. “If we head back now, we might make it back to the palace before sunset.”

“We’ve already come this far, Captain,” Yuma said, smile faltering somewhat. “Why turn back now?”

Ryoga scowled, but Yuma couldn’t see it anyway so it really didn’t make any difference. “I don’t like being out in this cold at night, especially with all this snow and—“

“Is Ryoga Kamishiro, Captain-Commander of the Astral Guard and last son of the Dragoons, afraid of a little bad weather?” Yuma tilted his head, a wry smile playing onto his face.

“Don’t be stupid.” Ryoga pulled his cloak tightly across his chest. He rubbed his dripping nose with numb fingers. “I’m not afraid of anything. I just hate being in the forest at— in the cold.”

He hoped that his near-miss –  _I hate being in the forest at night,_  he was about to say – would be overlooked by the lieutenant, and it was his fortune that Yuma was distracted at that moment by blurry movement a little deeper in, where the trees were thickest.

“Did you see that?” Yuma murmured, narrowing his eyes as he peered into the trees.

They had two swords between them; Ryoga was a warrior from birth and Yuma an expert at swordplay. But Ryoga was average at swordplay at the best of times, and in this weather, with his footwork suppressed by the ice and his fingers frozen, he would likely not be of much help.

_Can Barians feel cold?_ he wondered, and a shudder went through his body.

“Yuma, we should go,” he said, reaching one numb hand toward the lieutenant, but in true Yuma fashion, he ignored his captain and reached for his sword, trotting after the figure in the trees.

_Damn it, Yuma._

His own fingers fumbled at his belt, but try as he might he could not wrap them around the hilt. It was possibly the worst time he could have forgotten his gloves, but it wasn’t as though he’d really expected to be dragged this far away from the palace into the forest. If he had known, he would have brought his trident. Damn it, damn it,  _damn it_ , he should have known better than to leave the palace without a reasonable means of protection. It wasn’t  _safe_  to leave the palace without the proper equipment; as Captain-Commander he  _knew_ that.

“’I found something, Captain,’” he muttered, giving up on the sword and storming after Yuma’s figure, fading into the rapidly falling darkness. “’It’s not too far in, Captain. You’ll want to see it, Captain.’ Goddamn it, this is the last time I’m following him anywhere. How the  _hell_  did he sucker me into—”

He skidded on a sheet of ice, barely catching himself on a low-hanging, ice-covered tree branch. His already frozen hand burned from the cold of the ice and he swore under his breath again as he peeled his hand away from it.

(Perhaps, though, it wasn’t as  _under his breath_  as he thought.)

 “Ryoga.”

The voice was faint. He couldn’t pinpoint its origin, and it didn’t…  _sound_ like Yuma.

“Yuma?” he said cautiously, forcing his fingers as far around the hilt of his sword as he could. His heart pounded. “I told you not to—“

He stepped forward.

It was no longer cold; there was a chill in the air, but it was a crisp chill and not the bitter iciness of midwinter. Instead of trees covered in icicles, there were colorful leaves, flashing warm reds and golds in the strong rays of the beginning sunset.

He smelled the smoke.

He smelled the death.

He knew.

“No—“

There was a finger at his lips, a pale face in front of him. Familiar eyes, pained eyes, trembling lips and—and blood staining long, silvery hair.

Blood stained her throat, too, where a blade had been neatly slid across it.

He couldn’t breathe; a weight crushed his chest and tears cold on his cheeks. He backed into a tree, and the bloodstained woman followed, finger never leaving his lips.

_It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s not real, it’s—_

“Shh,” she whispered, and she tapped his lips. There was a smile playing around her lips, a tight, pained smile. “My beautiful son. My beautiful Ryoga.”

He finally found the breath to scream.

* * *

Yuma leaned against a tree, staring the lynx that stared back at him. It was a treat; he hadn’t seen a lynx in the wild in  _years_. Not since his father had taken him through the mountains on their way to Heartland one summer. It was beautiful; the cat had a thick, silvery coat with a somewhat squashed face. Next to it, the dying rays of the sunset sparkled off the frozen waterfall, hanging from the rocks like enormous purple, pink, and gold icicles. The ice reflected in the lynx’s eyes, giving the creature an unworldly green gaze.

During the past seven months, he had begun to believe that there was nothing  _good_ left in the world. He would never forget the sight of his friends bleeding to death in front of him, could never – would never – forget how it felt to take another life. He was helpless to save anyone, but at the same time he had killed in vengeance. Was he any better than the Barians he despised?

His tears left a cold, salty streak behind on his cheeks.

Maybe he had convinced himself, in those first few months after it happened, that not even  _he_ was a good person. Maybe he had convinced himself that beautiful things no longer existed in this world. Maybe they never had, and he had just been too much of a child to fully understand that the world was inherently evil. He had been too much of a child to comprehend that as a soldier, he might have to kill someday.

His body acted on its own back then. It was what he told himself to keep sane.  _He_ wouldn’t have killed without hesitation. Something else controlled his body, it  _must_  have, because  _he_   _wouldn’t_   _have_ …

_I never would have…_

Whenever he tried to reason this with himself, he only felt angrier, more helpless, because no one could control his body but him; that man who took up the sword, that killed human and Barian alike could only have been something dark inside his own soul.

The lynx tensed, ears perked forward intently, before it darted lithely into the trees behind Yuma.

Then, the scream.

Not a strong scream – breathless, punctuated with sobs – but it was not far away, and Yuma realized with a jolt of panic that Ryoga hadn’t followed him to the waterfall.

_Ryoga._

His feet slid on the icy rocks as he scrambled back along the path, the same direction he had come from; he hadn’t remembered it being this icy when he wasn’t panicked, panicked that something had happened to Ryoga and  _gods, I dragged him out here_  but he was no longer cold. At least, he could no longer feel the numbness in his fingers. 

He had his sword in his hand as he stumbled over an icy root—

There was a deafening clash of steel on steel, a force that knocked Yuma to his knees with a painful  _crack_. Gods, but did it hurt – his sword slipped from his fingers before he slumped into a fallen tree branch. Sharp pains shot up both of his legs, into his lower back and down to his toes, and he whimpered pitiably.

“Yuma.”

There was a soft thud as Ryoga dropped his own sword and fell to his knees in a pile of snow next to Yuma, face ashen under the spots of red on his cheeks and nose, under the tear streaks down his own face.

“Oh gods, Yuma, I’m so sorry, I thought you were—“

“No, no, I’m… um…” He smiled weakly. “I suppose if I said I was okay, you would scowl at me?”

But the tight-lipped expression on Ryoga’s face wasn’t one of disapproval, but of concern that Yuma had seen in his eyes only once before. And the way his pale hands gingerly touched Yuma’s knee was almost… tender.

_You’re reading too much into it,_  Yuma told himself firmly, but that didn’t stop his heart from shuddering.

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” Ryoga whispered, staring intently at Yuma’s knees while his fingers prodded the bones uncomfortably.

“Ryoga.” Yuma didn’t allow himself to hesitate, because if he had, he wouldn’t have had the courage to grab Ryoga’s bare hand. Even through his own gloves, Yuma felt how cold Ryoga was. “I’ll be fine. Just some minor bruising. I’ve had worse.”

“I shouldn’t have attacked you.”

“It’s not—“

“If you say it’s not a big deal, I will demote you to checking cargo ships for the rest of your life.”

Yuma laughed weakly and tried pulling himself to his feet. He flinched at the renewed pain in the lower half of his body and would have fallen back to the ground had Ryoga not caught him.

“You think I’m not serious?” Ryoga said with a tone that matched the icy air. He pulled Yuma’s arm over his shoulders, draped one arm around Yuma’s back, and began dragging them out of the cluster of trees, toward the icy path. They slid a few times but managed to keep their footing. “You dragged me out here, unprepared, nearly at sundown, and you think I’m not going to be angry?” He used his free hand to gesture numbly toward the dark sky, illuminated only by a pale half-moon and a handful of stars that were beginning to show. “It’s dark, just like I said it would be. Damn it, Yuma.”

“Ryoga—“

“You will address me as Captain, or Captain-Commander.”

The words hurt more than the pain in Yuma’s legs. But the captain was right; it had been his idea to leave the palace so close to dusk, because… why? Because he wanted to show the captain a frozen waterfall?

“While we’re here…” Yuma hesitated. He didn’t want to ask, not when Ryoga was angry and cold and tired. The waterfall was so close, maybe fifty yards away, but…  _No. Don’t push your luck, Yuma._  “Why did you scream?”

Ryoga’s footsteps slowed, stopped, and Yuma with him. His face was unreadable. “I attacked you,” he said after a moment. “I attacked you and all you ask is why I screamed.”

Yuma hadn’t thought of that. It was natural, wasn’t it, to think about Ryoga first? “I guess… you had a reason, or you wouldn’t have.”

Ryoga exhaled sharply, his breath billowing in front of him. It might have been a laugh, had Yuma known Ryoga to be capable of laughter. “A reason. Sure.” He pulled his arm away from Yuma’s waist and turned to peer at him through the rapidly falling darkness. “That’s something I’ll never understand about you, Yuma.”

“What is?” Yuma said after a lengthy silence. He kept his posture as straight as possible, though his knees and lower back protested the standing.

Ryoga shook his head and looked down. “How little you care about yourself when someone you care about is in trouble.”

Yuma cleared his throat softly. “My mother always taught me that if I put other people first, someone would be there to protect me when I needed it most.” He missed his mother so much; he missed having a family there to comfort him, especially after…

“What is she like?”

Yuma bit his lip. “Was. She… passed away a few years ago.”

Maybe he was expecting sympathies, because that was the usual response he received when he divulged that his mother was gone, but he was surprised when Ryoga nodded slowly instead.

“She must have been a wonderful mother,” he said in a quiet voice, glancing skyward.

“Why?”

“Because she—“ Ryoga worked his jaw and licked his lips. “She raised you to be a good man, Yuma.”

Yuma didn’t know what to say to that. His mother  _had_  been wonderful. She was gentle, patient, artistic, and taught compassion and forgiveness. He missed the days where he could spend the day cooking with his mother, or dance with her during village festivals. He missed the days when she would tease him about all the girls in the village who wanted to marry him, even though he would wrinkle his nose at the time and insist he was much too young to be thinking about something like that.  

Mirai Tsukumo was never the same when her husband’s body was discovered beyond Barian lands.

“Anyway.” Ryoga cleared his throat.  “Since we’re out here, what did you want to show me?”

“Wh—oh, um, it was this, this way.” Yuma turned his head away and pointed, trying as discreetly as possible to wipe his eyes with his shoulder. He wasn’t sure Ryoga bought it. “There’s a nice view… beyond these trees here.”

The bobcat was pacing along the edge of the pool of ice. Its eyes glinted before it darted off again, leaving Yuma and his captain standing in front of the frozen cascades.

“A bobcat.” Ryoga’s brow furrowed. “Deceit.”

“Is there one animal in Dragoon culture that isn’t an omen of destruction?” Yuma suggested, but Ryoga’s disapproving frown made him regret those words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend disrespect.”

Ryoga never said  _it’s fine_. He told Yuma once the weakness of those words.  _Saying ‘it’s okay’ or ‘I don’t mind’ invites people who have wronged you to continue wronging you._  It was the opposite of what Yuma’s mother had taught him. Always forgive, she reminded him, no matter what wrongs have been committed against you.

Instead, Ryoga gazed at the waterfall before turning his attention to the night sky once more. It kind of annoyed Yuma, in a way; they could look at the stars anywhere else. He wanted Ryoga to see the waterfall, not stare at the sky.

“This is a good spot,” Ryoga said in a soft voice. He leaned his head back and pointed at the sky; his cowl slipped from his face, bathing his sharp profile in the light of the moon and stars. “See the way the lights glisten off the ice?”

He hadn’t, but now that Ryoga pointed it out, the ice glistened in a way that reminded Yuma of the summer festivals of his hometown when he was younger, where the people would set tiny lanterns afloat on the river, guiding lost souls Home. The tiny pinpricks of light had glistened off the river’s smooth surface in much the same way the celestial lights now shone on the icicles of the waterfall.

Ryoga was looking at him, head tilted to the side ever so slightly. “What is it? You look troubled.”

Yuma opened his mouth to say  _it’s nothing_  but no words left him. While he was playing Dragoons and Barians with the other boys in the village, Ryoga was helplessly watching the Dragoons being slaughtered by the Barians. Yuma had, unknowingly, been setting out the tiny lanterns for Ryoga’s people without a care in the world. “I’m sorry,” he said instead.

Slowly, Ryoga lifted a bare hand to Yuma’s arm and gripped him numbly. They stood in silence for a moment.

“Forests,” Ryoga began, and hesitated.

Yuma didn’t press. He had a sinking feeling what he and Ryoga were both thinking were different sides of the same coin.

“I don’t like forests at night,” Ryoga said, the words rushing from him. He swallowed. “Even this far away, I—“ He squeezed Yuma’s arm tighter. “Rio and I still… dream about it. Sometimes it’s as real as the day it happened.”

They had never discussed the genocide of Ryoga’s people. Yuma didn’t want to know anything about it; he knew enough from Mara, knew bits and pieces about it from Ryoga – his mother had been killed in front of him, the Barians burned it to the ground, Ryoga and Mara and Rio had almost died trying to get away – but he didn’t want to know the whole story.

“Captain,” Yuma began breathlessly, but Ryoga clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a tiny smile.

“I had something to ask you, actually.“ 

Yuma frowned. ”…what?“

"It’s nothing bad,” Ryoga murmured, “and I’ll understand if you don’t want to, but I was hoping that you would accept the honor of being Prince Astral’s personal bodyguard.”

Whatever Yuma expected, it wasn’t this. This was an honor of a lifetime - being able to live in the palace, to serve his king and queen and prince directly was a blessing from the gods themselves. He couldn't speak.

“Yuma?”

“I…” Yuma took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to answer right now.” Ryoga turned to walk away, and Yuma felt his knees quaking. 

“Captain,” Yuma blurted again, and this time he gave Ryoga a sheepish grin.

“What?”

Yuma waved a hand vaguely. “I, uh, can’t really walk very well. Because you, um…”

Ryoga sighed loudly. He threw his arm around Yuma’s waist while Yuma cautiously placed his arm around Ryoga’s shoulders. “We’ll get you to Lady Kotori,” he said, sounding much more like his characteristically grumpy self, “but if you tell her you got those injuries when I pushed you into the ground, you’re going to regret it.”

“All right, Captain.” Yuma grinned, despite himself. “I’ll make sure to tell her I saved you from a bear instead.”

The sharp jab in his side he received for his jest was entirely worth it.

“By the way,” he said in what he hoped was a more serious tone, “I accept.”

Ryoga’s smile was warmer now as he looked over at Yuma. “I thought you would. It will be an honor to serve with you, Yuma.”


End file.
